Page 88 of In the Dark

“What?” both Marian and Archer said at the same time.

Mia winked at me and tilted her head for me to go.

“I’ll be at the computers, Archer,” I mumbled, and Archer didn’t even look my way.

“Yeah, don’t do anything stupid,” he said before he turned back to Marian. “What did they look like?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I lied smoothly.

The second I turned the corner, I tucked the romance book under my arm, because I was definitely checking it out, and meandered over to the computers.

I took my sweet time getting to the public computers, sliding into the seat farthest from the aisle. My hands shook a little, like I’d never done a damn sneaky thing before. This was different, though. This was finding out a message from my parents.

This was finding out if they left something for me.

As I wiggled the mouse to wake the ancient screen, I felt exposed, convinced every patron whispering in the stacks was secretly reporting back to Callahan. Yet, no one was paying attention anymore.

I opened a private browser window. My fingers hovered over the keys. Galaxy Skies.

The initial results were useless noise—astronomy sites, cheap travel agencies. I had to dig deeper. I used the dates I’d pulled from the SD card metadata, filtering the search back fifteen years.

Nothing. The company was nowhere.

Frustrated, I tried a different angle. I utilized same image technology after I pulled a screenshot from the files. It was a shot in the dark, one I didn’t think would work, but it was a last-ditch effort.

And one image matched it.

One.

I found it.

It wasn’t a document. It was a still frame taken from grainy, low-resolution security footage uploaded to an obscure community watchdog forum years ago regarding industrial zoning violations. The time stamp was fourteen years old.

The image showed a desolate warehouse loading dock at dusk. And there, bolted above a rusting metal shutter, was a sign.

It was weathered, but the stylized G matched the corrupted fragment on the SD card perfectly. The neon script spelled out Galaxy Skies.

My breath hitched. It was real.

I leaned closer to the monitor, squinting at the blurry JPEG. Below the main sign, painted onto the brickwork in fading white letters, was a slogan. It was almost illegible due to the poor camera quality, but I managed to piece the words together: a twinkle in your eye.

The world seemed to stop. The library noise faded into a dull roar in my ears.

That phrase. It wasn’t just a cheesy business motto. It was a memory. A memory I didn’t visit because it was of my parents, of them singing and enjoying themselves. Of what my dad sang to me one last time before he passed.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in a dusty library. I was six years old, tucked into a bed, the smell of my father’s cologne wrapping around me in the dark. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his voice a low, comforting rumble as he sang the lullaby he’d made up just for me.

It didn’t mention galaxies or skies.

Close your sleepy head, my prize … his voice sang, clear as a bell, remember where there’s a twinkle in your eyes, that’s where the treasure will be.

9116713-o-o-o-o-3

In the dark, you’ll find, that’s where the treasure will be.

All for you, Jasmina, to make the choice for family,

9116713-o-o-o-o-3,